


My dear ghosts

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coen - Freeform, Eskel - Freeform, Kaer Morhen, Lambert - Freeform, M/M, Sad Ending, Short, Sorrow, Vesemir - Freeform, Yennefer - Freeform, ciri - Freeform, jaskier - Freeform, lonely geralt, no beta we die like renfri, nobody lives, old Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: Geralt walk through Kaer Morhen. Old age does not suit him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84





	My dear ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Jenny of Oldstones - Florence + The machine for 2 hours straight while writing this. I just have so many feelings about this song, I could base a hundred fics and pictures on it.  
> So here, have some sad!

Kaer Morhen is empty.  
Moist is clinging to the stone, the air has a tangy smell to it. Rubble lies along the walls, undisturbed for many, many years. All the windows are broken. The courtyard is overgrown and old rusty swords lies discarded on the ground. Decay is everywhere.  
It is empty. A shell of a building, the lost body of what once was. A half burned library coated in spiderwebs. A dining hall who saw no one for decades.

Footfalls echoes through the halls. Softly but incredibly loud in the silence. Dust dances in the air around Geralt, their rest disturbed by his presence. His hands are scarred, his skin wrinkled. One of his eyes is almost grey from cataract, and a jagged scar runs over it. Old age doesn’t suit him.  
As he walks he lets his fingers drag against the cold stone wall. For his inner eyes, memories play with every slow beat of his heart. Eskel and his goats. Lambert choking on a fishbone. Vesemir in his favorite chair by the fire. Coen and Ciri practicing swordplay by the edge of the forest so Geralt wouldn’t see. 

A small stone clatters away when his boot hits it. There is an ache in his bones, more present than ever before. His knees are creaking when he climbs the stairs. Slowly he makes his way upwards the steep steps, worn out from all the witchers returning home and the young boys in training. 

Geralt stops when he enters the common area where he learned his letters so incredibly long ago. Where they would spend their rare lazy nights in peace, huddled together against the cold and the harshness of the world. When Ciri was little she would curl up in Yennefer's lap in the big stuffed chair in the corner. Lambert and Jaskier bantering away by the wooden table with a heavy book between them. Vesemir smoking by the fire, staring at the flames.  
They are all gone now.

Yennefer died with a blade in her abdomen. There was nothing he could do to save her, being half a world away. She staggered through a portal, barely conscious, and died in his arms. She always wanted everything.  
It was her everything that finally did her in, his blade and her blood.

Geralt watched Jaskier fade away. His hair turning grey, all the songs and words just out of his reach, his hands fragile and weak. He took a nap in their cottage by the sea, lute in his arms cradled like a baby, and never woke up. Geralt miss him everyday.

Losing Ciri was the hardest. Her bright eyes, smiles, her scowl when they would fight, her tears when she was lost. How she turned from a small girl in his arms to a woman grown by his side. And then, before her time, turned into a memory.

One after another, he lost them. Geralt stands in the home that once housed them all. His brothers. His family. For good and for bad, they are still here. He senses them in every room, in every scattered stone. He can still smell them in the air, still feel their presence behind him as he walks the empty halls. He can feel Yen's hand on his shoulder, so real to him that he can almost feel the warmth. The memory of Ciris' laugh brings tears to his eyes. 

Eskel never returned. They never learned what happened but witcher rarely find peaceful ends. From what Geralt heard, Lambert was slaughtered by a lord refusing payment after a hunt. Coen was run through with a twin scythe. Vesemir burned.

And through it all, Geralt lived.  
With his ghosts he walks through Kaer Morhen. The world around him moved on, adapted.  
Through it all Geralt stayed the same. He walk through his rooms and his halls, his steps echoing. Distant melodies and voices from the past walks with him.  
So Geralt stays.  
He stays with his loved ones. Days and nights, he walks his home, talking to those who are no longer there. After a while his memories takes a step outside his head and walk with him. Laughing, fighting and running. Even the boys from his childhood walk by his side. Sometimes even his mother.

Until the day he joins them.

**Author's Note:**

> Im so sorry.
> 
> come shout at me at tumblr  
> Dapandapod


End file.
